


Our Mutual Friend: A Missive

by vifetoile



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Epistolary, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Lightsbridge (Emelan), Meet the Family, Midwinter, Oneshot, give tris a happy ending dammit, tris is prickly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25557895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vifetoile/pseuds/vifetoile
Summary: "We haven't met yet, but I hope that we'll be friends. Trisana C. is our mutual friend. We met as fellow students at Lightsbridge University, and she turned my entire world upside-down. Now, I mean to court her. When I asked her about her family, she told me to write to you three. Well, here goes nothing..."
Relationships: Trisana Chandler/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Our Mutual Friend: A Missive

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I don't own Circle of Magic, nor any of the characters except Yoriko, but man am I glad to have finished this. This idea has been knocking around in my head for years, and I finally got the format right. Epistolary, in the form of a letter-- of course!  
> I wrote this for fun, because I just really want to see Trisana Chandler live happily ever after. I don't really worry so much about the other three, but Tris? She's had such a hard go of it. Give her a thrilling love story and a little domestic bliss.

To: Current Residents

6 Cheeseman Street,

Summersea

Emelan

To Lady Sandriliene, Master Daja, and Master Briar,

Greetings and salutations!

You don’t know me yet, but I hope we will be friends. My name is Yoriko Attenowa, and on the seventeenth day of Hearth Moon (tides willing) I will disembark at Emelan’s port from the good ship _Dolphin_ , which set out from Lightsbridge.

You will recognize me by the following: I am a little above average in height, with a lanky build. I have dark brown skin and my hair is close cropped.

Furthermore, I promise to wear my forest green scarf with golden candlewick embroidery, so that you may be sure to find me easily. (This was Trisana’s suggestion.)

Trisana C. is our mutual friend. I know her as T. Copper, but I know that’s not her real name. I like her a lot. A great deal. In fact, I mean to court her.

Forgive me, I am not normally so forward, but Tris has the effect of turning me topsy turvy. She is not like anyone else I have ever met. When I asked about her family and told her I wanted to contact them, she rolled her eyes and said I was being old-fashioned, but eventually she gave me a sheet of paper. “Write,” she told me, “to them.”

It had your names and this address. I had heard of you before—Tris talks about her siblings all of the time—but to actually hold in my hand the means to contact you gave me a thrill.

Tris said that if I meant to woo her, I had better get into your good graces. So, here I am.

I hope you will like me. I want to give you an idea of who I am—plus how I am, how I was, and how Tris changed me—before we celebrate Midwinter together.

My family, the Attenowas, is well established as a merchant clan, especially in the city of Jorstodt, where I was born. We have pretensions to aristocracy. Born mages such as myself made an important tool. At the age of five I made sealing wax and inkwells dance, to the delight of the extended clan. My parents drilled into me the notion that as a mage, I would be useful and powerful. I was enrolled at Lightsbridge Academy as soon as possible, and began my term there with high hopes. Jorstodt is near to Lightsbridge, so as far as weather, climate, culture, and food went, I felt very much at home.

Needless to say, I had a swelled head. I assumed I would coast along with great ease and enjoyment.

I was terribly wrong.

Since my studies began I’ve taken a real knocking to my self-esteem, and I am a better soul for it. But I will say, though my school performance was bad, it was not for lack of trying. I pushed myself hard to study and read all that I could. Books have always been my delight, and I remember just about everything I have ever read. But spoken instruction slips right off of me. And performing rigorous academic magic was harder than I could have possibly imagined.

Perhaps Trisana has told you about Professor Swik Billowmere. Professor S. B. has a rigorous focus on verbal magic, as it may be used in the field. In the course of that class—in front of everyone that I hoped to impress—I learned that speaking spells into existence was completely beyond me. I was the laughingstock of SB’s class—and SB encouraged the laughter. Everyone needed someone to step on, and I, flailing and gasping at the bottom of the pack, made for a good cobblestone.

Everyone laughed, except Trisana.

One day, she told SB off on my behalf, and got into trouble for it. After that, I told her not to put her neck out for me. Not because I didn’t want her in trouble, no, but because I was too proud. I didn’t want protection from some fellow student.

But she’d caught my eye. There was a fierce grey glint behind her spectacles, and her hair baffled me. That red was magnificent, but why was the whole mass braided back so strictly? And she always had a book, which is a quality I find very attractive. I admit it, I noticed her. And I knew she was observing me. I had no idea how closely until we met by chance one day in the library.

She asked to share my reading alcove, and I agreed, though between the two of us our reading material threatened to overwhelm the poor old table.

Then Trisana Copper passed me a note. At first I only noticed her handwriting, and I liked it a lot—it was cramped, hurried, but with these beautiful tails and loops—yes, I pay attention to handwriting, anyway—she wrote, “You’re having trouble. Do you want my help?”

I didn’t write back. My surprise and dismay must have shown on my face. She took the parchment back and wrote an addendum: “I wouldn’t offer except I can see how hard you’re struggling. You could break your heart in exhaustion. If you want me to shut up, I will.”

I wrote a reply: “Why do you want to help me?”

I expected to see her blush, fuss, and make other signs that she had a crush on lanky ol’ me (I was very vain then, I’m a little better now). I admit, I wanted to see something like that. But her face remained as stoic and fascinating as ever. She wrote in, “Because you remind me of myself.”

I replied, “That’s a compliment” and I smiled as I pushed the paper back at her. She had these qualities: discipline, focus, sharp eyes, and a love for the library almost as strong as my own. She was clearly one of the smartest students in our level. So I wasn’t joking: it really was a compliment.

She gave me this stern, assessing look. To my everlasting chagrin, I blushed. She took the paper back and wrote firmly, “What do you know about ambient magic?”

I’d heard a little about ambient magic. Nothing that I’d heard had been complimentary. I erred on the side of discretion, and wrote something about mages who keep their spells in rocks and stones, or people who were very specialized in their magic.

Trisana read my reply with care. Then, on a new scrap of parchment, she wrote a careful sentence. When she passed it to me I had to read it four times to get the meaning steeped into my brain.

She wrote, “It seems clear to me that you are not an academic mage: you have ambient magic with books and writing.”

I read the sentence over four times. I stared at her. Then I stood up, gathered my books, and left the library without another word to her.

I did not believe her. I didn’t want it to be true. I convinced myself that this inscrutable priss was a know-nothing from the South who wouldn’t recognize real magic if it bit her. For five days I avoided her, but on the sixth I couldn’t stand having this conversation unfinished.

I confronted her head on—in a private reading room of the library—and demanded by what evidence she made such a ridiculous claim.

Trisana looked at me, then around at the library, and said, “Maybe this isn’t the best place for such a discussion.”

I told her, “This is neutral ground for us.”

She replied, “Not exactly. If you’re an ambient book mage, then naturally a library would be your haven and stronghold.”

I was speechless then, because she was right. She had known exactly why I’d chosen the spot. I pointed out that she also loved books, did that make _her_ an ambient mage?

(At that point I did not know that she was, in fact, an ambient mage. Frankly I still have trouble believing the scope of her power. But to continue my story.)

Then, Trisana had the nerve to take out an itemized list. She read off the points: I could write spells but not utter them; I could bind spells in ink, paper, wax, leather, or vellum but not stone, or any fabric, or any plant matter that was not in the form of paper; I was fanatically attached to my books and quills. Academic magic was beyond me. She said I was likely to kill myself with no sign of progress, the way I carried on without food or rest.

I said, “Oh, you noticed?”

I was trying to be suave. Desperately trying to be suave. By suavity, I could regain control. But Tris ignored me. She swore me to secrecy before telling me that she had the ability to see magic. While I processed this, she added that she saw how my magic shone brilliantly in my parchment scrolls, my quills, inkwells, even the little knife I use to sharpen quills—but not in the dandy little mage’s kit that my parents had gifted me. Not in crystal or mirror, not in candle or string or other useless folderol (my words, not hers).

I sat in silence for a while. I was stunned. I think my blankness made Tris uncomfortable, because after a while she said, “Look on the bright side,” in a practical voice. “Has your magic ever hurt anyone? I bet not. When did a book hurt someone?”

Now I realize she was thinking of herself, and her own electric gifts. But at the time I could only think of poor little me, and I said, stupidly, “Paper cuts. Paper cuts have followed me, in the wake of every argument I’ve ever had. Paper cuts,” I added, really in the throes of despair, “are my destiny.”

Then Trisana Copper laughed. She apologized promptly—she wasn’t laughing at my pain, just at the thought of paper cuts for destiny—and then broke out into giggles again.

Hand to my heart, I thought that her laugh sounded like rain. I didn’t know then that she was a weather witch, only that her laughter was a lovely sound, and there wasn’t a scrap of malice in it. I knew then that Trisana Copper could be my friend, and that she was kind, for all that she was prickly and terse with every blessed student.

I told her, “Thank you for telling me. If you’re right, then you’ve done me a great favor.”

Her laughter faded. She thought for a moment, then put her hand on mine. She said, “I know this is a blow to you. I know you’ve been struggling, and a whole new world of struggling begins today. But I promise you this: you’ll survive, and you’ll find friends, and you’ll find a purpose in life. I’ve lived half my life as a ward of Winding Circle Temple, which is full of ambient mages. I’ll help you out—as long as you’re not a complete nimrod,” she added, as if an afterthought.

I told her that was perfectly fair. I apologized for having avoided her, and she accepted my apology. Then I excused myself and took my books, and went back to my room. I had a lot to think about, including the sound of laughter that was soothing, like rain.

Life is long, but parchment does run out. I won’t bore you with everything that fell out—if you want to know about how my family reacted, beyond “They weren’t happy,” or how this impacted my studies, which was “dramatically,” you can ask me when we meet in person. 

In a few words, I will try to tell you, then, that for two years Trisana has been my steadiest ally and my most reliable friend. When I needed a kick in the rear, she provided one free of charge. When I needed comfort, or perspective, she would drag me from my room and reintroduce me to the beauty of the open sky and the wind. In short, she would take me on walks, and I would always feel better.

For my part, I have always tried to be a comfort and cheer to her. Do I always succeed? Well, you would have to ask her. But I try all the same. As an ambient paper mage that she discovered and taught (at least until I met Master Qendee Sugarquill, my current teacher) I mean to do her proud.

It was at Midsummer, six months ago, that she kissed me. I was delighted she did.

When she invited me to join her for her Midwinter in Summersea, her second vacation home since starting school, I keenly felt the honor. I daresay, maybe Trisana likes me a little—she’s not demonstrative, but inviting a friend to spend the holidays is a pretty good sign, don't you think? 

The parchment is running out—damnation. I hope this letter will help endear me to you, because you’re Trisana’s family. I like her very much, and I know you all love her. We all want to make her happy, and I think that’s a decent starting point for celebrating Midwinter together.

Until we meet on Summersea’s port, I remain your humble servant,

Yoriko Attenowa


End file.
